Gran's Stories
by WingedFlight
Summary: These are the tales of Susan, a queen who learned to remember the past in order to live for the future. Written for the 2013 Narnia Fic Exchange.


**Title:** Gran's Stories

**Summary:** These are the tales of Susan, a queen who learned to remember the past in order to live for the future.

**Author's Note: **This fic was originally written for angel_in_tears as a part of the 2013 Narnia Fic Exchange. (The original prompt will be in an A/N at the end of the fic.) There's a whole collection of gorgeous stories that went up over this past month — you can see them all in the LJ comm _narniaexchange_. I encourage you to go take a look!

Even better, this year the fic exchange is trying something new: a madness round. Basically, the prompts from the exchange are open for anyone to fill (even if you didn't participate in the original exchange) and there are no length requirements. I think it lasts for another two weeks so go forth and write! All the guidelines are in a post over in the LJ comm.

And finally, thank you so much to everyone who helped me with this, especially freudiancascade and pencildragon11 for the constant support and last minute beta work. Also a special thanks to snacky for running another excellent exchange!

-X-

I.

The rain was coming down in sheets when Gran Su finally pulled up in front of the school. Jenna dashed through the empty yard with her jacket over her head, swearing up a storm as she attempted to dodge a puddle only to step into a deeper one and completely soak her shoes. The wind blew the rain at an angle, somehow managing to trickle down her back despite the protection of the jacket. Jenna cursed again before pulling open the passenger door to tumble into the vehicle.

She was so busy tossing her dripping jacket and bag into the backseat that she didn't notice immediately that the vehicle hadn't begun to move yet. Only when Gran coughed did Jenna look up, and then quickly turn her attention away to the side mirror. "What?" she asked, too aware of Gran's disapproving stare.

Gran just sighed before pulling the shift into gear. "What was it for this time?"

She hadn't seen her grandmother in over a year, and they were already starting on a sour note. Jenna scrunched down in her seat, rolling her eyes. "Nothing! It was nothing! A misunderstanding."

"Your father says you have a lot of misunderstandings with your teachers."

Jenna said nothing.

"Problems with authority," continued Gran musingly. "Well, you're hardly the first in this family. What happened?"

Jenna wanted to say that it didn't matter, but somehow the explanation came sheepishly out. By the time Gran was turning the car into the cul-de-sac, Jenna had gone through the entire mess.

"And when you talked back to the teacher," said Gran slowly at the end of it. "Was your language anything like what I heard you shouting in the rain before you got into my car? Or was that another misunderstanding?"

Jenna blushed. She glanced to her left just in time to catch the twinkle in Gran's eye before the woman brought her concentration back to the road. The car fell silent save for the pattering of rain on the roof and the _swish-swish_ of the wipers against the windshield. Gran flicked the turn signal — _tick tick, tick tick_ — and pulled the vehicle gracefully into the driveway.

When she shut the engine off, they sat there together for a minute before Gran finally leaned over to whisper, "Don't tell your mother, and certainly do not tell your teachers, but I can pass on much more colourful language than that."

-X-

Both Jenna and Gran were laughing by the time they stumbled through the pouring rain and into the house. No one else was home, but Gran filled the silence by teaching her another particularly exotic curse. Jenna cackled and dropped her bag in the hall before beelining for the fridge.

"Would you just look at that rain," sighed Gran, appearing in the doorway with a hand towel to wring out her hair. "I remember getting caught in a rainstorm just like this, with a green-tinged sky and the rivers flooding the banks. We had made camp on the banks of Beruna and —"

"Gran," Jenn interrupted, turning around with a carton of orange juice in hand, "Not to be rude, but don't you think I'm too old for fairy tales?"

A crash of thunder cut through the sudden silence. Jenna stood still, trying not to feel guilty for her words, trying to remind herself that this was a totally natural reaction as a teenager. After all, everyone was always telling her to act more mature.

"Too old for fairy tales?" Gran asked at last, an odd smile hanging on her face. "Yes, I would suppose you could say that."

"I like your stories," Jenna added quickly. "You tell great stories. But can't you — can't you tell stories from your life? I mean, not dressed up as though you were a queen or on an adventure but the _real_ stories. I want to — I want to know what you actually did. I don't want to have to pick out the truth, I — I want to know the real you."

Gran regarded her calmly until she was done. Embarrassed, Jenna spun around to grab two cups from the shelf, slamming the cupboard door harder than she meant. She busied herself with pouring the orange juice and then delayed by tidying the counter.

Finally, Gran said, "Why don't we take our drinks into the sitting room?"

Still ashamed of her outburst, Jenna meekly followed her grandmother down the hall. Gran took the straight-backed chair in the corner of the room, managing to look as imposing as always as she took a seat. Jenna simply set her cup on the coffee table and dropped down onto the couch, curling up against the pillows.

Gran took a long sip of her juice before setting it on the shelf beside her. "You sound like your Aunt Donna, you know. She's always telling me that it shouldn't matter what other lives I've lived, as she only wants to hear about the one she can understand."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Jenna protested.

Gran smiled easily. "I know. There comes a point for everyone when a story is no longer enough. Even your Aunt Lu spent most of her teenage years rolling her eyes whenever I brought it up." She clasped her hands together the way Gran always did while telling one of her stories, and began, "Have I ever told you about the night before your Aunt Donna's wedding?"

II.

The grandfather clock in the hall was just striking eleven when the chaos in the kitchen finally began to subside. The last batch of baking was ready for the oven, the kids had all been corralled into bed, and Marie had set herself at the sink to finish washing the last of the dishes. Stifling a yawn, Donna reached for a tea towel only for her older sister to pluck it away.

"You've done enough today," Lu scolded, flapping the towel in Donna's face. "Now sit. And if I see you try and help with one more thing, I will drive you into bed myself."

Donna knew better than to argue with her sister. She dropped down on the nearest stool and fidgeted. All day, she'd been working hard to keep the nerves at bay. Now, however, she couldn't help thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

"You look ready to pass out."

Donna blinked, startled out of her thoughts. It was Mum, standing above her with arms folded and an eyebrow quirked. "Did no one think to get you a drink?" the woman continued, moving past Donna to the pantry. She retrieved a bottle of liquor and set it down on the counter before turning to the girls at the sink. "Finish those dishes quickly and you'll each have a glass waiting for you."

Lu laughed and Marie said, "Only if you have a drink with us, Susan." With another giggle, Lu snapped the towel at her sister-in-law and, before Mum could say anything, jumped to attention as though she hadn't done a thing. Donna's mouth twitched but she couldn't quite find the energy for a full smile.

Mum noticed, of course. She took Donna by the arm and lead her from the stool to the kitchen table, where she poured two glasses. "It's a big day tomorrow," Mum said, sliding the drink across the table before taking a seat, "And it's only natural to feel nervous."

Donna took a sip before letting out a breath. "Maybe this is too soon," she fretted.

"You've been engaged for three years," Lu snorted from across the kitchen.

"Don't put your feet on ice," advised Marie, mixing up the English idiom as usual.

Mum regarded Donna steadily. "Do you really think this is too soon?"

Donna shook her head sheepishly and lifted her drink again.

"It's the stress," Mum assured her. "You're tired."

Objectively, Donna knew she was right, even if it felt hard to believe at this moment. She let out another breath and rubbed her forehead. Mum reached across the table to squeeze her other hand.

Across the kitchen, Lu rattled a stack of dishes as she tried to return them all to the cupboard at once. Donna looked up just in time to warn her that a cup was about to roll from the shelf, which Marie jumped to rescue. "Everything is under control," Lu assured them firmly, and glanced at the sink. "The rest of the dishes can air-dry," she decided, hanging her tea towel on the rack before taking a seat in the chair next to Donna. "Now, where's my glass?"

"Wait until I'm finished!" Marie cried, and set the last cup on the counter to dry before pulling out the sink plug.

Donna watched as Mum poured out two more glasses for Lu and Marie, as well as refilling their own. Marie dried her hands hastily to join them. "To Donna!" Lu exclaimed, and they each tipped back their shot.

Marie coughed and returned to the kitchen to wipe down the counters. Lu laughed and pushed her glass across the table. "One more?"

They had another round. Mum was just returning the bottle to the cupboard when the timer buzzed. There was a minor bustle as Marie took the trays from the oven and Lu slid the last batch in, and then the two of them clustered together to transfer the biscuits onto cooling trays. Finally, Lu returned to her seat as Marie wiped away any last crumbs.

"How about a story, Mum?" Lu asked.

Mum set her glass carefully on the table. "A story," she repeated. "Any requests?"

"A wedding," said Lu instantly.

But Donna shook her head. "There's enough of that to think about already."

"A coronation," Marie suggested. Although she had only been a part of their family for a few years, already she knew the type of tale to request.

But Donna was still frowning. "Not a Narnian story. Not tonight, Mum. I need something tangible."

"How about the first time you met Father?" Lucy asked quickly.

Mum laughed. "The first time I met your father, I gave him a false name and slipped away as soon as I could. Then I was more preoccupied with… otherworldly incidents to bother thinking about him for a while. We talked a few times in the years following, and I did get to know his cousin fairly well but — Well, words were spoken and I didn't see Roger for a number of years after that."

Lu chortled in delight, curling into her chair in anticipation. Marie wrung out the dishrag and hung it over the faucet before pulling up a seat at the table to listen.

Mum shifted slightly, folding her hands carefully as she considered her words. She met each of them in the eye briefly before beginning: "I think the first time that really counts would be when we met by chance in a train station in the mid-fifties."

III.

Roger Farland had been back in the country for less than two days when a chance delay at the railway station brought him face-to-face with Susan Pevensie. She had been two ahead of him in the line for tickets, tapping one toe impatiently against the ground in a manner he found vaguely familiar. Still, it was not until she turned around — briskly, already striding away as she tucked the ticket into her purse — that he caught sight of her face and realized it was her.

He almost called out, but memory of their last parting caused him to hesitate an instant too long. Staring ahead at the counter, Roger took a deep breath. _Maybe,_ he thought, _it is for the best._ Still, he could not help an uncertain glance back over his shoulder. Susan had crossed the platform, setting her single bag down at her side to watch for the train.

"Next, please," called the ticket master, and Roger turned back to the counter in a start. Fumbling with both his bags, he somehow managed to organize himself long enough to purchase a single ticket before pulling away from the counter. He paused briefly to rearrange himself, glancing up occasionally to where Susan waited alone across the platform. There was no one with her, not even to say goodbye.

_If you don't move now,_ his mind whispered, _Susan Pevensie will disappear from your life as abruptly as the last time._

A crowd swelled between them as a distant whistle indicated the approach of the next train. Suddenly flustered, Roger grabbed both his suitcases before hurrying forward. He lost sight of her for one instant and his heart almost jumped into his throat before the travelling family moved from his line of sight to show that she was still there.

And then, oh by heavens, she was stooping to retrieve her bag and there were still five yards between them. Roger resisted the urge to break into a sprint. Susan straightened again, bag in hand, and took one step toward the train before glancing carelessly to her right. Her shoulders stiffened in recognition, a single eyebrow arching in surprise.

Caught off-guard, Roger gave his best impression of a deer startled by hunters and halted. He glanced away toward the train, as though he'd been crossing the platform only because he happened to fancy the farthermost car from his previous position. _Too late,_ he lamented to himself, _now she'll think you didn't see her — didn't recognize her — or worse, that you just don't want to talk!_

The best thing to do at this point would be give up and walk onto the train in the hopes that a better opportunity would present itself later. He almost did, too, but Roger couldn't help one more look. And that look revealed Susan Pevensie striding unmistakably towards _him._

-X-

They found a compartment together near the back of the car, where the only other passenger was already engrossed in his newspaper. Susan lead the way inside, swinging her bag onto the luggage rack before Roger could offer to assist. He waited until she stepped back before lifting his own suitcases. Susan had already sat on the empty bench; Roger wavered between joining her or sitting beside the stranger. He settled on the latter and received a stern glare from the man, who rattled his newspaper before disappearing behind it. Roger coughed awkwardly and then slid over to put some space between them.

"How have you been?" Susan asked before Roger could even think of what to say. "I haven't seen you since —" And she paused.

"The park," Roger filled in. He could remember it well: the trees hanging low to shield them both from a faint frosting of rain as she bid him farewell. He could even recall the words she spoke, a bitter rejection in fairy tale terms — but he wouldn't repeat them now.

Susan had leaned back in her seat at the memory. "Ah yes," she mused, voice low and face caught in a wry expression. "In hindsight, I'm afraid I was terribly rude to you."

"It was rude of me to bring it up," he responded quickly. Even the memory of that day brought a blush to his face. He tried to change the topic of conversation. "I heard from my cousin that you have been travelling."

"Quite a lot, actually," she said with relief, "I've been out of the country for a while."

Roger leaned forward. "Really? Where did you go?"

"All over." Her excitement broke through her otherwise steady manner. "So many different cultures and people to learn about."

Susan went on to describe some of the places she had visited, all varied and colourful locations that he could hardly have imagined existed. His half-year spent working overseas seemed terribly dull in comparison. Roger had never been all that comfortable leaving his home, and had been surprised by how much he enjoyed his time in America. He never would have considered the possibility of travelling to more exotic locations — and yet, he found himself yearning to see the places Susan spoke of now.

_She's different,_ he realized suddenly, although he couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps it was a stronger sense of confidence, or a freedom to her words he'd never witnessed before. Her eyes were brighter than he remembered, her smile slightly warmer.

"You've seen a lot," he said in amazement at last.

"And plenty more," she added. Her eyes moved to Roger's right, where the other passenger had lowered his newspaper to listen. As soon as she looked to him, the man coughed and lifted the paper to hide behind once more. Susan quirked another smile, raising an eyebrow to Roger with amusement.

She fell silent then, likely caught in memories. The train was winding through a stretch of forest, the trees close and thick outside the window. Roger tried to picture desert instead and couldn't quite manage it.

"What was it I told you?" Susan asked after a time. The train had broken from the trees now, so Roger could see the sloping green fields that rose up beside the tracks. "It wasn't very nice, I'm afraid. Something about stories, wasn't it?"

She didn't have to explain further. Roger remembered every word she had spoken in the park that day. "You told me you'd spent so much of your life in stories that you'd forgotten how to live in the real world. You said it wouldn't be fair to give me hope for the future that you couldn't even spare for yourself."

She winced and looked away. Beside Roger, the other passenger snorted abruptly and then tried to cover it up with a shake of his newspaper.

"That was a difficult year," she explained slowly, "but I still haven't any excuse."

Roger would have much preferred they avoid this conversation entirely but couldn't find the words to say as much. He fiddled with his pocket watch instead, studying the scenery outside rather than watch her face. "I — I shouldn't have admitted to remembering that," he said at last.

The other man chuckled softly.

"Your stories," Roger continued, reddening. "If they're even half as interesting as your tales of travel, I wouldn't blame you for choosing to spend your days immersed in them."

He looked back to her just as she lifted her head; their eyes met and she smiled again. "I'd like to think they were all right. Others have enjoyed them."

Roger flipped his watch over in his hand again. The other passenger noisily turned the page of his newspaper.

"I wouldn't mind hearing one," Roger said, inwardly wincing as soon as the words left his mouth.

But Susan didn't appear to be offended, nor did she close up. Instead, she tipped her head to consider. "I owe you that much," she decided. "Although this probably isn't the type of story you might expect. This is a tale of Susan, the queen of a kingdom lost in the past."

IV.

"You are most beautiful," Caspian said in the early morning, when the pink of the sun had just begun to touch the horizon and the stars had yet to fade from the sky. He was drunk on moonlight and Bacchus's wine and the sight of the queen at his side.

Susan lay on her back, staring up at the stars. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she was not nearly so drunk as he, despite having matched him cup for cup. "Most beautiful," she echoed, closing her eyes, "Is that what they say in the stories? That the Gentle Queen was the most beautiful in the land?"

"In all the lands," Caspian replied reverently. He still could not quite believe the legends had returned to aid him.

"In my day," she said, "Cair Paravel had a library full of history that had been hidden from the witch during the Hundred Year Winter. I spent much of my time there, reading all I could about the land I was to rule with my siblings. There were traditions and etiquette to learn, and so many explanations on just how to deal with the multitude of species within our border."

"I see," breathed Caspian, and he slid closer.

Susan shifted away again. "I have heard some of the stories that remain of the Golden Age," she continued, "but none of them mention this. And I have to wonder — were the tales I read in my time as close to the truth as I'd believed? Had any of those stories I idolized happened as I'd been told?"

Caspian moved his head closer to her shoulder. "I am sure," he whispered, "that you were just as beautiful as the stories proclaim."

Susan turned her head and almost brushed her nose against his. "Caspian," she sighed, and sat up abruptly. "You are going to be king. Act with a little more decorum."

"You are leaving?" he asked with sudden alarm, watching her with wide eyes as she stood.

"Just for a walk," Susan assured him.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd just made a fool of himself, although the drink was making it difficult for him to reason out exactly how. Caspian lurched to his feet. "I'll join you," he said hastily, offering his arm. Susan ignored it, settling off for a cluster of trees a short distance away. Unconcerned, Caspian stumbled after her; his balance was slightly off, which made it difficult to put one foot in front of the other.

Susan was still talking. "I can remember the princes and kings of other countries as they stood before my throne, spouting poetry to compare my beauty to the earth, the moon, the gods. It was most likely those very verses and songs that survived the ages, rather than the ballads of truth." She paused to step around a slumbering faun and looked back to Caspian. "I wonder what those kings and princes would think to see me now, a barefoot and bareheaded girl in the grass with a boy who had not yet learned to rule."

Caspian almost protested, but she spoke the truth: There would be many lessons for him to learn about ruling a country. He even supposed this could be counted as one of them.

Upon reaching the trees, they came across a group of young Telmarine girls nestled among the roots of two slumbering trees. They had been giggling softly amongst themselves, only to hush as they noticed Susan and Caspian draw near.

Susan instantly knelt in the grass beside them to learn their names, taking care to speak to each of the girls for a turn. Caspian did his best to follow suit.

"Were you really a queen?" asked the youngest.

It occurred to Caspian that it must be difficult to be viewed as a character from legend. But Susan did not hesitate, reaching out to squeeze the girl's hand. "A queen of Narnia, as surely as you breathe."

"I've heard that all the kings wanted to marry you," said another of the girls.

"Too many of them," Susan affirmed. "To tell you the truth, most of them were rather silly."

Caspian almost felt on the outskirts of this conversation. He opened his mouth but just then, Susan added, "I have very high hopes for King Caspian, though."

He reddened.

"He is far from the silliest prince I ever met," she continued. "If you'd like, I could tell you all a story from the Golden Age."

The girls eagerly nodded. Even Caspian leaned forward to listen.

Susan straightened, clasping her hands in preparation for the tale. It was a familiar movement, although it took Caspian a moment to recognize this as the posture used by Calormene storytellers. She cleared her throat softly, took a breath, and began:

"This is a tale of Susan and the pessimistic prince."

V.

The proposal was almost lost amid the flowery poetry and excessive compliments. Susan waited patiently, fingers tapping a rhythm on the arm of her throne as the ambassador spouted unwieldy metaphors and questionable hyperboles. At one point, the man fell into such long-winded praise of her hair that he was left red-faced and pausing for breath by the end of it; Susan raised her hand for him to stop.

"Thank you, Lord Lexis," she said, "You speak well on behalf of your prince. But might I ask why Prince Vladister of Carnash is not the one to speak this suit to me?"

At the ambassador's raised eyebrow, Susan realized she was inadvertently treading dangerous cultural territory. "In Narnia, you see," she continued quickly, "It is customary for the suitor to deliver the proposal himself."

The ambassador regarded her skeptically. "The prince chose me specifically to speak on his behalf."

As far as Susan was aware, the prince had chosen a number of people to speak on his behalf ever since his arrival in Narnia three days before. She had yet to even see this prince, and assumed it was because he wanted to cultivate an air of mystery or superiority to further his suit. Rather than directly mention this, however, she simply told the ambassador, "Perhaps his proposal would be viewed more favourably if I were to see the prince himself."

The ambassador considered her words carefully. "Your majesty," he said at last. "If I might speak freely?"

"Of course."

"Prince Vladister secludes himself due to an... affliction. He fears that you would not accept his suit if you were to see him in his current state."

"Affliction?"

The ambassador lowered his voice. "A curse," he explained.

"I see," said Susan. "Well, I think it is time I met Prince Vladister for myself."

-X-

The guest chambers were shrouded in darkness when the ambassador escorted Queen Susan inside. She paused in the doorway, waiting until her eyes adjusted to make out a small figure curled up in one of the armchairs of the suite.

"Prince Vladister?" she asked uncertainly.

"It's certainly me," was the morose reply. "Or what is left of me, I suppose. Oh, don't bother coming in. I might be contagious. You never know with curses."

All the same, Susan ventured forward into the dark room, straining to make out any features of this prince. "This curse," she asked uncertainly, "The ambassador tells me it has changed your physical form?"

"Most abominably," the prince sighed. "Although I wasn't much to look at beforehand, either."

Susan was beginning to get the idea that the prince was vastly over-exaggerating his ailment. "Well, it certainly won't do any good to sit here and wallow," she said briskly, "Can someone please open those drapes? I think it's time I see exactly what affliction has overcome our poor prince."

No one moved until the prince groaned, "Oh, do as she says. The light will probably hurt my eyes and may burn my skin, but I can bear it."

Two servants leapt to obey, pulling the drapes open abruptly. The sudden light temporarily blinded everyone in the room. Then, as Susan was still blinking to recover, the prince stood up. His limbs unfolded awkwardly and when he rose to his feet, it turned out that he was actually much taller than she had expected. Tall and gangly, all limbs and stringy hair and... _webbed...fingers?_

"You're a wiggle," she said in surprise, and then wondered how she hadn't realized sooner.

"I beg your pardon!" exploded the ambassador, who until now had been keeping a silent post by the door.

"A wiggle," Susan said again, and turned to see that the ambassador's face was bright red. "I'm not trying to insult him, Lord Lexis. That's simply what he is." She looked back to the prince, who had hunched over and appeared to be quite miserable - just the same as every other wiggle she had ever met. "Did you have a wiggle mother, perhaps?"

The ambassador spluttered behind her, while Prince Vladister merely regarded her sadly. "My mother and father are both very human," he said, "If they are my parents at all. It would be just my luck to learn that I were not actually the son of noble birth I had always supposed."

Susan was beginning to have quite enough of his attitude. "Prince Vladister, how exactly did you come into this situation?"

The prince explained that he had always had the worst of luck, and might even have been cursed before this particular set of events had come to happen. Susan then replied that she hadn't asked about previous misfortunes, she simply wanted to know how he had been turned into a wiggle. After another lengthy monologue, the prince finally admitted that he had chanced upon an old woman on the side of the road during his trip to Narnia.

"An old woman?" Susan repeated.

"A witch or a hag, most like," responded the prince.

According to Prince Vladister, he had hardly exchanged two words with this old woman when she decided to take offence at his attitude and transformed him into the miserable creature that Susan now saw. This sounded highly unlikely to Susan, who recognized the hallmarks of the tale.

"You ran into Zelphi," she explained once the prince had finished. "She is a trickster goddess who usually roams the west of our land."

The ambassador hurrumphed loudly. "We might have been warned about this travel hazard."

"She isn't a hazard for those with manners," Susan retorted, "Begging your pardon, Prince Vladister. I would imagine you actually spoke more than 'two words' when she met you on the road?"

The prince mumbled something in the affirmative. The ambassador grumpily added, "She told his highness that she would give him an exterior to match his temperament."

"That does sound like Zelphi," Susan said. "She tends to prefer mischief with a lesson attached."

"I _would_ be the one to meet a trickster," the prince bemoaned.

"Cheer up," Susan responded, "Zelphi always provides a way to reverse the spell. It's simply a matter of assuring you actually learn the lesson." Folding her hands before her, she added, "There is actually one interesting tale about another prince she transformed into a frog."

"If only I had his luck," muttered the prince.

Susan frowned. "I would think it would be more difficult to be a frog," she responded. "In any case, it occurred in the days before the Hundred Year Winter —"

"How reliable is this tale?" interrupted the ambassador. "Does it provide any actual insight as to how we cure his highness?"

"Well, I was going to tell you about the quest he went upon —"

"A quest," sighed the prince. "I'm hopeless at those."

Susan threw her hands in the air. "Fine!" she said. "If you don't want to listen, so be it. You can go talk to the marshwiggles instead. I'm sure _they_ will enjoy your company at least."

VI.

Silence fell over the group before Caspian realized that Susan was apparently finished her tale. "But what happened then?" he asked.

Susan seemed surprised that he had asked. "The prince did talk to the marshwiggles," she said, "In fact, they got along so well that he moved up to their village in the Northern marshes where he fell in love with a lovely young wiggle named Wiltreed. They got along splendidly."

Caspian scratched his head. "Forgive me if I misunderstood but… are you suggesting it is better to marry a wiggle than a queen?" He glanced at the girls who were all still listening avidly. "Or king?"

Susan blinked. "I was saying the prince was perfectly happy without a royal bride."

"He might have been returned to his human body," Caspian pointed out.

She sighed. Caspian wondered if he was the only one who had missed the intended moral of this tale, or if the girls were all just as confused. Perhaps it was all the wine he'd had earlier.

Susan shook her head at him and turned back to the girls. "You can all do much better than a king, you know," she said intently. "For a king's first love is his country, and I think you could all do with a man who will look to you first."

-X-

The train's whistle cut through the air as Susan finished. Roger flipped his pocket watch over in his hand again, coughed uncertainly, and said, "That was a very good story."

"Thank you."

"But — why that one?"

"Pardon?"

He coughed again. "I don't really understand it."

She fixed him an unimpressed look. "It shouldn't be a difficult story to understand."

The other man had lowered his newspaper again halfway through the tale. Now, for the first time, he actually spoke up. "The queen won't marry you just because you think she's beautiful," he explained abruptly. Then with a smirk, he added, "Unless she was trying to ask you to write a love song to woo her?"

-X-

"Please tell me Father actually did write you a song about your beauty," Lu said eagerly.

"Unfortunately," answered Susan. "And his poems were only slightly better."

Donna lay her head down on the table. "Why would you think _that_ is a good story to tell on my wedding night? It makes no sense!"

"It made perfect sense," protested Lu.

"Perhaps Susan is trying to say you should have Kevin write you a love song to sing at the ceremony?" Marie said teasingly.

Donna groaned and, without raising her head, pushed her shot glass across the table. "I think I need another drink."

-X-

The end of Gran's tale was punctuated by another roll of thunder. The woman smiled and opened her hands, an invitation for any questions.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Arg, Gran, I said _no Narnia!"_

Gran sighed. "And I decided I would tell one anyway," she retorted. "Sometimes, getting to know the real person is no more nor less complicated than learning how to truly listen to the stories they choose to tell."

"What?"

"There is a purpose to the stories I tell, Jenna. All of them hold memories of worlds, places,_ people_. You were right — I am not going to be here forever, but maybe if I tell enough of my tales, the memories will remain."

Guiltily, Jenna remembered something Dad had told her once — that Gran's siblings had been killed in some tragic accident. So often, they showed up in the anecdotes Gran told, their memories kept alive even if their own personal tales had been lost.

"Sorry, Gran," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. "It isn't that I don't want to hear about Narnia anymore. But can't you tell more stories of our world, too?"

Gran winked. "I'm sure we can work out a compromise."

A door slammed at the front of the house, accompanied by a sudden burst of chatter. "Sounds like the family's home," Gran commented, reaching for her glass of orange juice. "Why don't you go help them inside, dear?"

But before Jenna could get up, the family began to troop into the room.

"We brought pizza!" exclaimed Aunt Donna, holding the boxes aloft as she entered the room. Gramps and Dad were behind her with plates and napkins. Jenna could hear her cousins shouting in the other room before they dashed in to claim any available seat. Jenna ended up squished on the couch between the twins with a toddler climbing over her knee.

"We went by the river on the drive back," Dad was saying from his seat across the room, "It looked like if this rain continues, there might be some flooding on the south bank."

"That reminds me of one of your stories, Su," said Gramps. "Something about the Beruna flooding."

Aunt Donna paused in the middle of passing a plate to one of the twins and said, "Oh, not this again."

"Mom!" protested the twins in unison. "I want to hear this story," continued Eric. "Ditto," finished Anthony.

"Stowee, stowee!" chanted baby Isla, balancing on Jenna's lap to clap her hands.

"Well," said Gran, doing a terrible job of hiding a smile. She set her paper plate on the shelf at her side next to half-full glass of orange juice. "It was a rainstorm just like this," she said, folding her hands carefully, "With a green-tinged sky and the rivers flooding the banks. We had made camp on the banks of Beruna…"

-X-

End.

**Original Prompt:**  
What I want: Definitely Susan-centric. I love stories of the golden age in Narnia, or Susan being allowed to return to Narnia. Not the biggest fan of Susan/Caspian but I don't mind them :) I do read Peter/Susan fic and don't mind that either, unless it's something you're massively against!  
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: 'If only time could be repeated", Stormy Weather, Coronations and politics.  
What I definitely don't want in my fic: Anything goes! :)

**Author's Note: **

And that's the end! If you'd like to read more about anything here, I accidentally wrote up a fairly long post on associated headcanons that I developed in the process of writing this fic. It's now up on my own livejournal, which you can find by following the link on my profile.

Thanks for reading!


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